


shimmering underneath the sunlight

by lesprita



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy Dog AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:38:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1897590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesprita/pseuds/lesprita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has a bad day and, sometimes, that's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shimmering underneath the sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from frank ocean's _sierra leone_

When he wakes up, his heart beating too fast and his sweat cold, there’s a wet sensation on his finger tips. His eyes drift open and blinks carefully. The senses slowly register back to him; it’s not summer in a desert, it’s spring time in Baltimore, he’s not in military olive drabs, he’s in his boxers. He’s not _helpless,_  scared or desperate, he’s – well, he doesn’t know what he’s feeling now, aside from his chest caving in and the room closing in on him. 

He’s suddenly aware just how _alone_ he is until the licking moves from his finger tips to his palms and a something wet nudges on his hand. He looks over, his arm sprawled over the edge of the bed and June is there on her hind legs, ears behind her head. The golden retriever whines softly, licking his wrist. 

“June?” he mumbles and sits up. He relaxes some, breathing evenly. June stares and its so full of concern that it’s almost human.

Sam feels fierce guilt then, like he always does when he wakes up from a nightmare he can’t shake and tries to laugh it off, to joke. “Ready for your walk, huh?” 

She whines again, nudging his hand emphatically. He smiles and it helps. 

“I’m sorry, girl,” he says, rubbing the space between her ears. “You know it was just a bad dream. I’m not going away.” June’s tongue laps and her eyes close. 

Daylight filters through the drapes, a soft grey-blue color. He moves his legs over the edge and rubs June’s shaggy gold-brown fur, both sides of her head. She hadn’t woken him like this in a long time. “Just a bad dream,” he repeats, reassuring himself as much as her. It’s like there’s mercury in his bones – as if moving is a chore and that makes Sam worried because that's never a good sign.

He stands from his bed, forcing himself to be active. “I think I’m up for a run. How about you?” At the mention of ‘run’ June’s ears perk up and her tail wagging as she barks. Sam laughs. “Okay, lets get ready.” 

Downstairs, he pours her breakfast in a bowl after changing into his running clothes. Showers, breakfast comes later; he drinks some water to hydrate himself and washes his face with a hand towel. 

When they do start jog fifteen minutes later, Sam feels relief already: his blood starts circulating, his lungs pumping air and it’s good. Distracting. He focuses on what’s ahead with June leading the way with the sun rising from behind. 

He lets the earlier frustration exert out and the weight is lifted – but barely.

Sam hasn’t had this nightmare for a whole year and, no matter how illogical it sounds, it unsettles him. Normally, he could ignore his nightmares, hell, even forget about them. But this one... it gets to him every time and he's so sick of it. Sam puts more energy in the last lap and June runs a little closer to him. At his front step, he sits down, soaked to the bone with his sweat and buries his face in his hands. 

 _Get a hold of yourself. The day just began and you can’t go out acting like this._ That's right. He needs to be functional, even if its just in the house.

June whines again. Her wet nose presses against his face, blocked by his hands and Sam snaps out of it. Without further thought, he runs his fingers through her fur again. She licks his cheek pointedly and that’s when Sam notices someone at the edge of his sidewalk.  

He blinked. It’s Steve, in civilian clothes with his hands in his pockets and a hesitant smile. “Morning.”

It takes a second, but then Sam smiles back, scratching behind June's ears. “Hey. Did you run here or actually take a car?” 

"Funny," Steve says, rolling his eyes. He walks up his front steps. Sam forces down his earlier anxiety and rubs behind June’s head one last time before standing up. 

“I thought you weren’t back until Friday,” he says in question. Steve was on a mission for two weeks and Sam planned on picking him up this Friday.

“It wasn’t as bad as we thought,” Steve replies with a loose shrug. He’s a step away from Sam, June smelling his tennis shoes with keen interest. Steve smiles down at her and rubs her head. “You’ve been good while I was gone?”

June cocks her head inquisitively, smelling his knee before going back to sniffing his shoes. The day Steve met June, it was like that too: she sniffed his running shoes intensely as if his scent would reveal his true character (turned out there was some bubblegum he had stepped on without noticing). 

Sam gives his charge a pointed look. “Oh, she’s been out of trouble. That's why she's been getting a lot of cool treats lately," his look then shifts to Steve, "because she's _earned_ it and nobody's been spoiling her." 

Steve amicably feigns ignorance. "Of course. It's not like I brought anything for her." 

"So that bulge in your pocket isn't a doggy treat bag?" 

"Yeah, but it's for the other golden retrievers that live here."

Sam shakes his head with a grin and turns to unlock his door. “You still eat breakfast right?” 

“Are you offering to make me an omelette?” Steve asks hopefully.

“I’m offering my kitchen so you can make an omelette, old man.” 

“Oh please. I’m not the one gasping for breath after a couple of miles.” Steve takes off his shoes after Sam and hangs his fleece jacket on the coat racket.

In the kitchen, Sam gulps down cold water as Steve began looking for materials in the pantry. June licks her water and Sam mulls over what he’s going to do. 

He’s glad Steve’s assignment wasn’t bad. And he’s thankful Steve is back in the States without a single scratch on him. But the last thing he wants to do is to go on a date, not when he feels like skipping the shower and laying down somewhere for the rest of the day. He forces his muscles to extract the carton of eggs and wrapped bacon slices from the fridge. “I’ve got breakfast, you can brew the coffee,” he says and Steve doesn’t argue. 

They both work in the kitchen, in sync as if it’s natural, and just like jogging, Sam gets a little of peace of mind. The smell of sizzling bacon puts June at his feet and Sam shoos her away (when Steve doesn’t think he notices, Sam practically hears Steve sneak her a treat. Sam rolls his eyes at that).

By the time everything is made and breakfast is hot, Sam settles down on the stool at the island counter. Steve places the cup of coffee in front of him and helps himself to the food. It’s quiet, but Sam doesn’t mind it. He gives June a bacon slice to win her favor again.

However, Steve is half way through his breakfast when he asks, softly, “Everything okay?” 

Sam stops stirring his mug. His heart squeezes a little, because of _course_ he notices. He tries to smile, but can’t keep it up and falters. 

“Is it obvious?” he asks, with a breathless chuckle. 

“Kind of,” Steve replies gentle care. “I saw you get back from your jog and you... didn’t look to good. June tipped me off.” 

“Oh.” 

Another moment of quiet, but it’s strained now; Steve knows something is wrong. Sam licks his lips and centers his attention on his omelette. He sighs and flips a strip of bacon at June. 

“You, uh, ever have one of those days when you’re body feels like lead?” he asks with resignation. Steve leans his forearms on the counter.

“Yeah. I have those sometimes,” he replies. 

Sam’s grin is the self-deprecating kind. “Well, I woke up twice as heavy and as if I haven’t blinked an eye of sleep.” 

“Bad dream?” 

“An old one. Still got me all shaken up though.” 

Steve, frowning, is quiet and listens. 

“It’s... nothing terrible. Not at first, anyway. In my dream, it starts with me flying with my wing pack, doing an op,” his smile is wide at the poorly restrained confusion on Steve’s face, “yeah, I know, it's not intense. Everything happens exactly the way it should, except... I’m terrified.” 

He picks up his fork and locks down on his early anxiety. He could still feel his throat dry like sandpaper, but the sky and the view was beautiful. He doesn’t notice his knee jittering up and down until June whines, gently nudging her head against his knee. He stops and gives her another strip of bacon. “I’m scared shitless and not the fun kind like skydiving. It was the first kill shot kind of terror and when you know the guy is down for good. And in my dream, I don't realize why I'm scared until I look for my wingman and instead there's this man I've never seen before but for some reason I know he should be dead. He's got Riley's wings and I don't know what the hell it all means.” 

Another bacon is thrown and June catches it. Steve’s brow knits together and the confusion gave way to solemn understanding. 

Sam sticks a fork in the omelette. "You’d think it would be about something actually bad like what happened with Hydra, but... I woke up with this one. It was a long time ago and I shouldn’t even remember it. It’s like my head still can’t shake off the – the fear, you know?”

“I do.” Steve’s hand gingerly covers Sam's. His gaze is steady and Sam is oddly relieved that he doesn’t say, _it’ll be alright_ or _it’s just a dream_. The quiet is broken by June whining for another piece of bacon. Her front paws are on his knees. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Sorry, girl, guess you're gonna have to settle. No more bacon.” 

June still looks expectant and it’s Steve’s turn to laugh. “How about I make the next round?” he says, and turns to the fridge to take some more out. Turns on the stove and, after spraying a little Pam, puts two slice of bacon on the pan. June sits on her hind legs, her tail wagging. Sam mutters about his greedy dog and begins eating the omelette. 

Steve uses up the rest of the pack, three for June and the other four for himself, and after cleaning the mess some, joins Sam on the seat next to him and eats too. The silence is companionable this time, finding comfort in June enjoying being spoiled. Sam is drinking the last bit of his coffee when Steve speaks. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through it again. Even if it was nothing,” he says, putting the fork on the plate gently. “I know what that’s like and I know the hard part is thinking it’s over and finding out it’s not. First kills are... tough.”

“How did you deal with yours?” 

Steve wipes his hands with a napkin, taking a moment to remember. “I didn’t. Back then, it was more of a ‘Now you’re a man, go kill some more’ mindset with the soldiers and anyway, no one wanted to show their commanding officers they were scared.” 

Well. Some things never change. Seventy year difference aside, the 'get-over-it' attitude is more or less the same; Sam never showed any of his fellow soldiers how much his first kill really affected him (he still would rather not think about it). He didn't even know it himself until he started having nightmares about it. It's not until a few years later when Sarah and Gideon showed up together one day, bringing a two year old June to him a few month after his last tour. She never let him feel alone and she connected him back with his siblings, even if he felt like a stranger to them and the rest of his family.

He plays with the half-finished food, obvious now he's going to get Steve thinking of darker times, and says, “You know, you don’t have to stay here on my account.” 

Steve gives him a funny look. "Huh?"

“I'm sure you'd rather not go through memory lane. As far as I’m concerned, I’m... not in the mood to go out, so you should go enjoy yourself.” He feels guilty about nudging Steve away, but all he’s going to do is space out the whole time and that’s never fun. Steve frowns as if reading his mind.

“Sam, unless you want me too, I don't want to leave.”

“Well, I’m not going to be much fun.” 

The other man shakes his head. “That’s fine. I just want to stay with you.” 

He stands, picking up his plate and Sam’s as Sam feels his heart squeeze inside. “Are you sure?” 

“There’s no where else I’d rather be.” Steve looks down as June approaches him. “Sorry, girl, no more bacon. You're gonna have to ask the other guy.” 

No one can ever say Steve is anything but a smooth talker. Maybe on a better day, tomorrow, Sam can call him out on it.

“And my answer is no,” he says with parental finality and then kneels down to pet June’s fur as she goes to him and starts nuzzling her nose against his cheek. “I’ll give you treats while I make Stevie over there watch the original  _Planet of the Apes_.”

Steve scoffs from the kitchen sink. “I hope it’s better than the one your nephew made me watch.”

“Don’t worry, I won't force Mark Walhberg on you. Originals are always better.”  

And it is, at least to him. The rest of the morning, they lay on the couch together with Sam leaning on Steve and June sprawled on the carpet. Steve's arm is around him and Sam gradually feels more relaxed.

Steve kisses his temple and Sam knows he's in good hands.


End file.
